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Copy 1 



THE KNITTING 

GIRLS COUNT ONE 

A PATRIOTIC PLAY IN ONE ACT 



BY 

ELISE WEST QUAIFE 



COPYBIGHT, 1918, BY SaMXTEI FbENCH. 



Amateurs may present this play free of royalty. 
All other rights reserved. 



PRICE 25 CENTS 



New York 
SAMUEL FRENCH 

PUBLISHER 

28-30 WEST 38th Street 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 



THE KNITTING 

GIRLS COUNT ONE 

A PATRIOTIC PLAY IN ONE ACT 



BY 



ELISE WEST QUAIFE 



Copyright, 1918, by Samuel French. 



Amateurs may present this play free of royalty. 
All other rights reserved. 



SAMUEL FRENCH 
publisher 
28-30 West 38th Street 
New York 



London 

SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 

26 Southampton Street 

STRAND 






NOV 15 1918 



CLD 5C709 



■ — yu' ' I 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 



Nearly all the incidents in this play have actually 
occurred during the present great war. 
September, 1918. 

Note: If those taking part do not care to sing, 
the songs can be omitted without affecting the sense 
of the dialogue. 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Mildred Thayer, A Young Widow. 
Helen Hartley, 20 years old, President of the Red 

Cross of Balmville. 
Kathleen Norris, 17 years old. 
Janet Hale, 18 years old. 
Nora Ryan, Mrs. Thayer's maid, 22 years old, 
Rodelle Saunders, 19 years old. 



The Knitting Girls Count One 



Scene : Mrs. Thayer's living room in Bahnville, a 
small village zvhere conventions prevail. It is 
a simple, pleasant room, -zvith a good sized round 
table on which are scattered hooks and maga- 
zines ; several easy chairs, a comfortable lounge, 
and a piano. (The piano need not be on stage). 

Discovered: Mrs. Thayer, a szveet-faced young 
woman, is seated by the table, at left of room, 
knitting a soldier's sock. On the table, near 
her, is a zvork-basket, containing another sock, 
only partly completed. Helen, a brisk, bright 
young woman, very much up-to-date as to 
clothes, is erect at one end of the lounge, knit- 
ting a soldier's szveater, while at the other end, 
curled up, zvith her feet under her, idly observ- 
ing the other tzvo, is Kathleen, a very pretty, 
fair-haired girl, dressed like a doll. The center 
of the stage is open, but there are doors at right 
and left, and a zvindozv zvherever convenient. 
As curtain rises, Helen drops her knitting for 
one moment, and looks indignantly at Kath- 
leen, zvho, in abstracted fashion, is playing 
with the ball of yarn. Helen reaches across 
the lounge, takes the yarn out of Kathleen's 
hand, and continues her argument. 

Helen. It's not the ability that is lacking in 
your case, Kathleen. It's the inclination. 

5 



6 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONK 

Kathleen. But, Helen, there are some things 
one simply cannot do. I can't knit any more than I 
can drive a car — I'm too nervous. 

Helen. (Briskly) Nonsense. Any girl can 
drive a car if she makes up her mind to learn. 
When Martin tried to teach me to run our Packard, 
I looked at the steering wheel, and thought of ch^ 
hills, and was terrified. And after I had backed 
down into a ditch twice, and run over a chicken 
once, the car seemed a bloody monster, eager for 
my gore. But Martin was drafted this Spring, and 
it was either run the car or walk two miles to the. 
postoffice every day. I ran the car ! 

Mildred. (Sun ling) Why go to the postoffice 
every day? 

Helen. You, a widow, to ask a girl that ques- 
tion, when the postoffice is our only means of com- 
municator n with the masculine sex. 

Kathleen. (Leans forward, hand around her 
knees) Yes, isn't it awful ! We were at Lime Rock 
Hotel all summer, and I only had two flirtations, 
and those were with boys with flat feet and sore 
eyes. 

Helen. (Sings) 

" When you're of¥ on your vacation, 
If you want to serve your nation, 
Believe me, you should be, 
Making love to a knitting girl." 

Which brings us back to our muttons. If you re- 
fuse to make socks, will you come to the Red Cross 
rooms once a week and make pajamas? 

Kathleen. I tell you I can't sew. 

Helen. Then you can pull basting threads. I 
pull them, — by the hundred yards. It is not inspir- 
ing work, therefore the other girls leave it to me. 

Kathleen. (Rather cross) But it's so stupid, 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 7 

spending one's perfectly good time, sewing ! {She 
rises, wanders ever to a mirror, and strikes an at- 
titude) If I could pose for the movies, and make 
a lot of money for the soldiers, I would do it in a 
minute, but sezving! Ugh! It gives me a headache 
to sit still and poke a needle through sticky old flan- 
nel. {She arranges a rebellious lock of hair) 

Mildred. (Gravely) Better you should have 
a headache, than that some wounded soldier in the 
hospital should be without covering. 

Kathleen. {Szcings round from the mirror, 
comes leans on table) Oh, I had a letter from Billy 
yesterday. He says three of the boys, who were 
sleeping in the trench with him — only on the north 
side — had their heads blown straight off in the 
night. He was on the south side and wasn't hurt 
a bit. 

(MiLDKED lays aside the sock she has been knitting, 
takes the unfinished one from the zvorkbag, and 
quietly knits several stitches, after zvhich she 
returns it to the bag, and goes on with her 
former zvork.) 

Helen. {Indignant) And yet you refuse to 
work for the Red Cross. It's outrageous. You're a 
slacker, that's what you are. 

Kathleen. {Angry) Don't j^ou call me that 
name. 

Helen. It's the kindest thing I can say of you. 

Mildred. Quarrelling will not help our soldiers. 
That is one thing we women have to learn ; this is 
no time for personalities. Each of us must decide 
for herself what her bit is, and then go at it with 
all her might, but she must not fuss if her neigh- 
bor's bit happens to be different. 

Helen. {Warmly) You do everything well, 
Mildred. It is a nine days' wonder how you ever 



8 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

managed that knitting machine as you did, when you 
had never seen one before. 

Kathleen. (Coming back to lounge) A girl 
at the liotel gave lessons on the knitting machine, 
at two dollars and a half an hour. 

Mildred. I hope she turned the money she made 
into wool for the soldiers. 

Kathleen. She didn't. She bought candy with 
it. How did you learn Mildred? 

Mildred. Our machine arrived at nine o'clock in 
the morning of what I later found out was the 
warmest day in ten years. I took it to the Red Cross 
rooms, unpacked it, found the directions of how to 
set it up, and went to work. I am not 
mechanical 

Helen. You are a genius. 

Mildred. So I had my troubles. Every now 
and then someone would wander into the rooms and 
say: ''Isn't it sweltering?" and I would dab the 
perspiration out of my eyes, and say: " Is it? " and 
forge ahead. I forgot about luncheon, but by two 
o'clock I had the machine adjusted and then I got 
busy discovering how to knit with it. Luckily the 
directions were very clear, and when I came home 
for dmner I bore my first sock proudly aloft. I had 
to finish up the toe and top by hand, but I had con- 
c[uered the mechanics of the middle, and now I 
can knit a sock in twenty minutes. 

Kathleen. {Takes a wee pozvder puff from 
her cuff, and pozvders her nose) Billy says the boys 
would rather have chocolate than socks. I sent him 
a dozen big bars. 

Helen. {Snorts indignantly) How much did 
you send your other relations? 

Kathleen. What other relations? 

Helen. Those of the blood tie. 

Kathleen. Tell me? 

Helen. If in the days of decadent Rome you 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 9 

had been flung to the wild beasts, and some mnn 
had leaped in between them and you, and saved 
your life at the risk of his own, would you have 
felt he had a claim on you ? 

Kathleen. Certainly. 

Helen. That is what the boys in the trenches 
are doing — everyone of them. They are standing; 
between the women and children of America and 
the beasts unleashed by war. They are related to 
us by their blood, and when we pray God to protect 
our brothers, we ought to pray harder that he will 
protect our brave protectors and bring them safc'V 
home. 

Mildred. {Applauds softly) That's good. 
Helen. 

Helen. I met a man from Belgium the other 
day; poor chap, he was only twenty-one, but terri- 
bly crippled. They had sent him over here for trea' 
ment. He said : " Everywhere I see the French 
flag, and that is right ; France is a brave, a great 
nation, but where is the flag of Belgium, the coun- 
try that gave her women to protect yours ? I have 
had only one letter from my home in four years, and 
it contained only four words : ' They killed your 
sister ! ' " 

Mildred. Plucky Belgium ! 

Kathleen. (Restlessly) Yes, of course that's 
all true, but you can't expect me to care as much 
for the whole allied army as I do for my only 
brother. 

Helen. You should care as much. 

Kathleen. Well I don't. I shouldn't care a 
mite if they put some of the good for nothings of 
this town in the range of the German guns. That 
iVustin Wood, for instance. 

Helen. He is sort of spineless, but they say he 
makes a good soldier. 

Kathleen. (In disgust) He never amounted 



10 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

to a row of pins, yet the Government has gone and 
made him a Lieutenant, right over Billy's head. 

Mildred, {Gently) The Government does not 
do things without reason. 

Kathleen. {Again rises, goes to table, takes a 
flozver from z'ase on same, and tzvists it in her 
fingers as she talks) Oh well. Austin had been to 
a military boarding school, and knew how to give 
orders. 

Mildred. Then he was of service as an officer. 

Kathleen. {Hotly) He was no good as a 
citizen. Never did a day's work in his Hfe, just 
hung around, and spent his mother's money 

Helen. She had plenty for him to spend, and 
she made a galley slave of the boy — never let him 
stir out of her sight when she could help it. 

Kathleen. {With deep scorn) He tried to 
write plan's ! As if he could ! 

Mildred. " A prophet in his own country," 
dear. 

Kathleen. Anyway, they had no right to ad- 
vance him as they did. Billy was an expert dentist, 
— graduated with the highest honors the year be- 
fore the war broke out, and we thought of course 
they would put him in charge of a base hospital 

Helen. {With sarcasm) To lih the teeth of 
the nurses ? 

Kathleen. {Too absorbed to be offended) But 
here he is just a common soldier, obliged to take 
orders from that lazy Austin Wood. 

Mildred. Our Lord was a common soldier, dear, 
obliged to be at the beck and call of the world. 

Kathleen. {With a toss of her head) You 
wait till Austin Wood comes home ! I heard he 
might be one of the boys chosen to come back and 
sell Liberty bonds, he is a good talker — that is a^i 
he can do. Won't I lead him a merry w^hirl ! (She 
sticks the flozver cocjiiettishly in her hair) I will 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE ii 

puff him up until he feels like a haroon at a Fourth 
of luly celebration, and then I will turn him down 
so hard he will feel like a cold storage egg fried on 
both sides. 

Helen. (Laughs) Rough treatment for o 

hero. 

Kathleen. No rougher than Billy gets at his 
hands every day. (Paces the floor, ivith hands 
clenched, and shakes her head at the coining soldier) 
Oh, he'll get his little dose when he comes back ! 

Mildred. " When he comes back ! " We use 
that phrase repeatedly, never thinking He may come 
back utterly changed. War is a furnace that either 
burns a man's soul to ashes or purifies and splen- 
didly transforms it. Perhaps Austin Wood will 
come back worthy of your admiration. 

Kathleen. (Through clenched teeth) Not 
much ! 

Mildred. He may — in very truth — be your hero. 

Helen. (Teasingly, rises, tai?es Kathleen 
around the zvaist) And we'll dance at your wed- 
ding — (JVhirls Kathleen, sings) "Present your 
arms ! Don't be slow ! Hold the fort ! " 

Kathleen. (Pulls azvay) Let me go! 

Helen. (Delighted) Perfect! Those are the 
exact words of the song. 

(Kathleen, zvith tzvo bright spots of crimson in 
her checks, takes up her hat and coat, and is 
pulling them on fiercely. Mildred goes to her, 
takes the zvraps gently from her, and bringing 
her back to the table, puts both hands on the 
girl's shoulders, and gently forcing her down 
on a lozv stool, sits looking into her eyes.) 

Mildred. That is precisely what I did. 

(Kathleen is still sulky, but Helen conies near, 



12 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

and completes the group of three, zvith Mil- 
dred as its center.) 

Helen. You? 

Mildred. Yes. You know me only as the widow 
of a man who painted several very famous pictures, 
but at the time of the Spanish war I was a concert 
singer in New York. 

(Kathleen, zvhose one ambition is to go on the 
stage, forgets her anger.) 

Kathleen. (Breathlessly) Hall, or legitimate? 

Mildred. (Laughs) Neither. I was not on the 
stage. I had a church position and I gave Recitals. 
I made much money, and had considerable of a fol- 
lowing. 

Helen. I never heard you sing. 

Mildred. I have not sung a note since I lost 
Mr. Thayer. I r:an't. Something chokes me — here. 
{Hand at throat) 

Kathleen. {Fervently) It must be just heav- 
enly to love to distraction ! 

Mildred. It is Heaven — or Hell. I met Mr. 
Thayer at the home of a friend ; from the begin- 
ning he was fond of me. 

Kathleen. {Clasping her Jiands) Love at first 
sight ! 

Mildred. {Slowly) I almost despised him. 

Kathleen. {Disappointed) Oh! 

Mildred. He could not sell his pictures, and, 
at that time, I thought the test of an artist was hi-; 
bank account. 

Helen. It isn't. 

Mildred. Certainly not, but my shibboleth wa*;. 
'' If you give the world something worth while, tbo 
world will pay the price," and, m a sense that i.s 
true, as the sequel proved. What I failed to realize 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 13 

was that an artist might have within him tremen- 
dous undeveloped possibiHties, which only a crisis 
could bring out. 

Kathleen. (Absorbed by the romance) Did 
Mr. Thayer propose to you at once ? 

Mildred. {Laughs) Mercy no ! He was the 
most reserved of lovers. Came to the studio ai 
hours when I was likely to be alone, and took me 
to art exhibits when I was tired ; that was all. 

Kathleen. Queer he should take you out when 
you were tired. 

Mildred. That was the only time I would go 
with him. When I was rested I was prancing about 
wdth a lot of silly fools who told me I would be- 
come a second Mary Garden. 

Kathleen. Marvellous ! 

Mildred. One evening, after our first regiments 
had started for Cuba, Mr. Thayer came to me boil- 
ing with surpressed indignation. It was long before 
I could induce him to talk, but when he started, it 
was with such a furious denunciation of militant 
methods that I gasped. He had.. .that day, tried to 
enlist as a private, and been refused. He then told 
me how, during a revolution in Brazil, he had 
taken command of a handful of soldiers, and saved 
the city and its inhabitants from destruction. Here 
is his photograph in Brazilian uniform. {She 
takes it from a drazver in the table, and goes behind 
tJie lounge to shozv it to the girls. She remains 
standing) 

Kathleen. (With conviction) He is simply 
stunning ! 

Mildred. He had other similar experiences. 
Once, in the Argentine, he quelled a riot at the 
mines. He knew his gun as he knew his palette. 
But he was a fighter only when occasion demanded 
that he be, and now, when he would go armed 
against the Spaniard, he could not go in the uniform 



14 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

of his own country. (She returns the photo, and 
impersonates zvhat follows) He was, as a Greek 
warrior of old, poised for flight on the fields of 
glory, but the wings were lacking. I said, *' Why do 
you not go as a free lance? " Dropping into a chair 
he covered his face, and the tears dripped through 
his fingers. " I haven't the price," he muttered. 
" You are correct in your estimate of me ; I am a 
failure." Something within me that had been as 
ice melted at his words. I put my hand over his 
and said, " I will loan it to you." He jumped up as 
though I had stuck him. " Do you suppose I would 
borrow from yoiif he asked. *' However, if you 
have that much faith in me I shall have faith in 
myself. I shall paint a picture this week that men 
will wish to buy. You see if I don't," and before 
I could utter a sound he was gone. 

Kathleen. {Breathless) Did he paint the 
picture ? 

IViiLDRED. (Proudly) " The Man Who Fights." 

Helen. That sold recently for five thousand dol- 
lars. I remember reading about it. 

Mildred. He sold it for three hundred, and 
joined the American troops in action. At first they 
would none of him, but he knew the game of war, 
and on several occasions, when the outlook was bad, 
he suggested plans of attack which carried through 
with success, and advanced our position at critical 
points. 

Kathleen. Did the Government recognize his 
services ? 

Mildred. I think they were about to do so when 
he was wounded. He lay in the hut of a native long- 
after peace had been declared, and his friends 
thought him lost. 

Kathleen. But he came back? 

Mildred. Naturally, since he married me. Yes, 
he came back one glowing evening in June. I was 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 15 

by the window of my studio, wondering why my 
work no longer interested me, when I saw him com- 
ing, thin, ragged, and weary, but with a !ook of 
infinite peace on his face. He found me, haK 
laughing, half crying, and we were married the 
next day. 

Kathleen. (With a sigh of bliss) That ended 
beautifully. 

Mildred. So it seemed, for from the time he 
took up his brush again everything he painted was 
grabbed at by art lovers, hut (sadly) his wound 
never fully healed, and when the Lusitania was sunk 
he went to Washington to beseech those in author- 
ity to act. He found the time not ripe for action, 
and the disappointment killed him. 

Helen. And yet you are not bitter against the 
Government. 

Mildred. Bitter! Why should I be? On the 
contrary, my sorrow has taught me how small are 
the interests of one individual compared with those 
of a nation, and it has given me a more sympathetic 
understanding of men and women. 

Helen. You will sing again some day, will you 
not? 

Mildred. Perhaps, if by so doing I can be of 
service. 

Kathleen. (Rises, stretches) Helen is perpet- 
ually singing some tune. What is that latest craze 
you hum day and night ? 

Helen. "The Knitting Girl." Know it? 

Kathleen. Tell me ! 

Helen. We did it at the Red Cross Show, eight 
of us tall girls dressed as soldiers, and eight of the 
shorter girls as our sweethearts; Janet Hale was 
mine. Come on, Ell show you how it goes. 

Kathleen. But I don't sing! 

(Helen rises, takes Kathleen to center stage, and 



i6 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

sings the song with action as iiidicated. Kath- 
leen hangs back, and is very slozv- and aivk- 
ivard about it, so when Janet enters, Helen 
drops Kathleen and takes Janet for partner, 
and they do it perfectly.) 

Helen. (7^o Kathleen) You don't need to 
sing; just act, (Sings) 

Summer time, so Grandma says, was one long 

holiday, 
Boys and girls would meet and love in the good 

old-fashioned way, 
But a^l the boys I know are enlisted for the war, 
And it's hard to find a boy to love me anymore. 
So to serve my country, v,-ith a diligence divine, 
I knit socks and sweaters in the good old summer 

time. 

The Knitting girl so coy (Helen goes to Kathleen 
and tries to embrace lier, but Kathleen pulls 
azvay ) 

Knows how to train a boy. 

" Tresent your arms ! [Holds out her arms to 

Kathleen) Don't be slow! Hold the fort! 

{Draz^'s Kathleen's head dozvn on her shoulder) 

Let me go ! " {Permits Kathleen to cross her, 
then takes her hands, arms crossed, one be- 
Jiind and one in front, and as they sing, they 
dance, three cross steps to each side) 

When you get a brief vacation. 

If 3^ou want to serve your nation. 

Believe me, (Shakes forefinger at partner) 

You should be, 

Making love to a knitting girl. (Takes partner 
zvith arms crossed, one at the back and one c 
the front, and smiling at her, szvings from sid.'^ 
to side) 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 17 

(Janet Hale enters. She is a very dainty young 

girl.} 

H^LEN. Here is my real sweetheart now, just 
in the nick of time. (Janet has in her hands a good 
sized plate, covered with a white napkin. Helen 
takes the plate, puts it on the table without uncover- 
ing it, and she and Janet do the chorus in perfect 
rhythm. At the end, Janet lets her head droop on 
Helen's shoulder) 

Janet. (Going to lounge) -Now I am all out of 
breath, and I came over to impart a perfectly rip- 
ping bit of news. 

Kathleen. (With excitement) Germany has 
declared peace ! 

Janet. ( With scorn ) Germany ! Do you want 
to be bossed by the Kaiser? America won't accept 
anything at Germany's hands — not even peace. 

Helen. {Who has peeked under the napkin, 
takes it off revealing a large, iced layer cake. She 
reaches for a knife and is about to cut into it) 
Meantime, I shall take a piece. 

Janet. [Grabs her hand) No! That is for 
the boys at Camp Hills. I am going to get a dozen 
nice, big, gooey cakes, and we will motor over to 
Camp to-night, and watch the boys eat. 

Kathleen. Heavenly ! 

Janet. {Coolly) Don't be too sure you will be 
invited. You have to make your cake first. 

Kathleen. I will go straight home and tell the 
cook to make a chocolate one with four layers. 

Janet. Oh no ! These are not to be cook-made 
cakes ; we have to make them ourselves and show 
the boys we can use our hands. 

Kathleen. But I don't know how to cook! 

Helen. There you go again. Do you know 
how to do anything useful? 



i8 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

Kathleen. (Offended) I am a crack tennis 
player. 

(All laugh, even Mildred.) 

Janet. Luxuries are to be dispensed with during 
the war. You are a luxury Kathleen. 

Mildred. (Kindly) Nevertheless, Janet, " A. 
thing of beauty is a joy forever," and I believe the 
boys at Camp Hills would just as willingly talk to 
Kathleen as eat her cake. 

Kathleen. (Throws Mildred a kiss) Thanks 
angel ! 

Mildred. (Pointing to the cake) Who is the 
donor of your first offering? 

Janet. Miss Saunders. Isn't that a peach of a 
cocoanut layer? 

(There is a visible chill comes over the girls.) 

Helen. (Slowly) If Miss Saunders is to be 
one of your party to-night, you can count me out. 

Kathleen. (Promptly) Me too. 

Janet. That's silly. She is a perfectly all right 
girl. 

Helen. (With a shrug) We won't argue. 

Janet. You don't know anything against her, do 
you? 

Kathleen. She paints! Her cheeks. 

Janet. So do you. 

Kathleen. In the daytime! And she lives all 
alone with that horridly common woman she calls 
Aunt, but who isn't a bit Hke her ; and she is awfully 
pushing; tries to go everywhere, and meet every- 
one ; I hadn't been home two days before she called 
on me, and 

Mildred. (Very slowly and distinctly) "The 
Knitting women count &ixty." (The girls look at 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 19 

hei' in amazement , hut she is placidly taking the un- 
finished sock from her bag, having laid the one she 
7vas knitting on the table) 

Helen. What did you say, Mildred? 

Mildred. " The Knitting women count sixty." 

Helen. Isn't that a bit irrelevant? 

Mildred. It is a quotation from the " Tale of 
Two Cities." Do you remember how, during the 
French Revolution, the people kept track of the aris- 
tocrats they beheaded ? 

Janet. Yes ; they were all numbered, and the 
knitting women took as many stitches as the num- 
ber of the man or woman whose head came off. 

Mildred. Women have always knitted during 
every war, and oddly, their knitting has been indic- 
ative of their state of mind — their way of being, 
'' In Action." It is said that when William the Nor- 
man invaded England, women wove bow strings of 
their hair, hoping the life in it would carry the ar 
rows closer to the hearts of the enemy. 

Kathleen. {With no comprehension of Mil- 
dred's idea) What a pretty thought! 

Mildred. When this war came, and we girls 
began to knit, I wondered what was in our minds. 
What was in yours, Helen? 

Helen. (Promptly) Red Cross. 

Mildred. And yours Janet? 

Janet. (Hesitates) Why — I guess I did it 
because the other girls did. 

Mildred. And why shall you learn Kathleen? 

Kathleen. (Cross) I won't learn, unless you 
all nag me into it. 

Mildred. In short, we were influenced to knit. 
This is the day of organized effort, of community 
ideas. It came to me how beautiful it would make 
our knitting if, instead of count the heads that fell, 
we counted the heads, or rather the souls, that were 
saved. (Holds up the unfinished sock) I have 



20 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

recorded in this sock every man, and every Vv'oman, 
who has escaped, as by miracle, during this war ; 
that is, everyone of whom I have heard. A few 
minutes ago I recorded your brother's escape, 
Kathleen. 

Kathleen. {Comes to her, fakes soek in hand) 
Billy's escape? Wliere? Tell me? 

Mildred. (Points to recent stitches) There. I 
have recorded sixty lives saved. I am not quite 
certain how many the French women recorded. 
Will you not all start your records? 

Helen. What has this to do with Miss 
Saunders ? 

Mildred. A soul saved over here is just as im- 
portant as one saved over there. I have an idea 
you girls can save Rodelle Saunders. 

Helen. (Bluntly) Save her from what? 

Mildred. Frankly, I don't know, but I do know 
that she has need of friends. 

Janet. She says she is all alone in the world ex- 
cepting for this awful Aunt. 

Helen. She is so forward. She acts as if she 
owns the Red Cross rooms 

Mildred. She has been one of your best helpers 
there, has she not ? 

Helen. (Reluctantly) Yes. 

Janet. She suggested the cakes and our trip to 
Camp. She said some homesick, raw recruit would 
feel happier if he got a bite of homemade cake in 
him. 

Mildred. She has initiative, and she has sense. 
Don't judge her by trifles. In my opinion someone 
very dear to her is in the front line of trenches over 
in No Man's Land. 

(At tJiis moment Nora Ryan puffs into the room 
with several packages under her arm. She is a 
comely Irish girl, large as to body and heart. 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 21 

Her hark is much worse than her bite, and zvhile 
she grumbles, she adores Mrs. Thayer zvhom 
she serves.) 

Nora. Shure, Mis' Thayer what do yez think 
has happened now? That Saunders girl has been 
arrested fer havin' wan hundred pounds o' sugar 
locked up in her top bureau drawer. 

Kathleen. What did I tell you? 

(Together) 

Helen. There! 
Janet. What a pity ! 

Mildred. Arrested! Are you sure? 

Nora. Shure I'm shure. 'Twas Mis' McCabe 
war a-tellin' me ; she see Mike Hennessey whin he 
war startin' fur the arrest. 

Mildred. This is a great village for mixing 
facts. 

Helen. Yes, instead of Balmville it should be 
named Gossipville. 

Nora. {With determination) 'Twas that woman 
what lived wid Mis' Saunders as blabbed on her. 
She warn't the girl's aunt a'tall, but jest a paid ser- 
vant, and this day they had a quarrel, and the 
woman, to git even, walked down to the food com- 
missioner who is staying the week at the hotel, and 
told as how Mis' Saunders had the sugar, an' he an' 
Mike Hennessey is gone to the house to find it on 
her. 

Kathleen. Will she have to go to jail? 

Nora. Shure she will. 

Mildred. I think not. They will probably fine 
her. 

Janet. I'm glad I got the cake first. 

Mildred. If you will excuse me, I will run over 



22 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

and see if I can be of service. There' must be some 
reason for this. (At zviiidozv) 

Helen. {Looks) Isn't that Miss Saunders 
coming up the hill now ? 

Nora. Hersilf ! Shure she's got the bold face 
on her to be walkin' the sthreet, and the whole 
village knowin' as how she has been arrested. 

Mildred. Take your bundles to the kitchen Nora, 
and go to the door. 

(Nora exits.) 

Helen. (Starts to put on her hat) Coming mv 
way, Kathleen? 

Kathleen. (Rising) Yes. 

Mildred. (Goes hetzveen them, and zvith author- 
ity, removes Helen's hat and taking both girls by 
the arm leads them back to the lounge) No! You 
are going to stay, both of you, and be kind to Ro- 
delle Saunders. 

Helen. Really I can't. 

Mildred. " Be ye knit together in brotherly 
love." I am not sure those words are in the Bible, 
but the idea is there. Show your patriotism by not 
condemning an American unheard. 

Helen. To hoard sugar ! Such a low trick. 

Kathleen. When the boys have to pay 86 cents 
a bar for almond chocolate at the front ! 

Mildred. There's a reason. Be reasonable, and 
find out what it is. 

(Reluctantly the girls resume their seats. Helen 
takes out her knitting and goes to zuork. Kath- 
leen takes a magazine from the table and pre- 
tends to look at the pictures of leading ac- 
tresses. The door bell rings.) 

Nora. (Outside) Shure she's at home, but I'm 
not shure she's at home to yez. 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 23 

Mildred. {Goes to door quickly) A caller 
Nora? {Goes through door. Outside, in accents of 
feigned surprise) Miss Saunders! How nice. 
Miss Hale has just been telling us your splendid 
plan for this evening. Come in, the girls are here. 
(She leads in Rodelle, a fragile looking girl, with 
appealing z'oice, hut rather gauche manner. She is 
not well dressed, and it is evident she is country 
bred. TJiis is strongly marked in contrast zvith the 
others, who, although they live in the country, have 
had town training. Rodelle has an honest zvay of 
looking straight at one, that is disconcerting to those 
zvho do not like her. She has made up her face to 
hide her pallor, hut nothing can hide the haunted 
look in her eyes) Of course you are well acquainted 
with Miss Hartley at the Red Cross, and I think you 
have met Miss Norris. 

{The girls bow stiffly.) .V 

Rodelle. {With an effort to appear at ease zvhich 
ill hecoiues her) Hello! Fine weather, isn't it? 
{There is no reply. Rodelle turns helplessly to 
r\IiLi)R£i). z^lio indicated thcot sJic rcuioz'C her hat, 
and sit dozvn. She docs so, leaving her hat on chair 
back stage) 

Mildred. V\t think your moonlight excursion 
to the Camp, zvith refreshments for the boys, most 
alluring. 

Rodelle. I may not be able to go. {She looks 
about zcistf ally, but the faces of the girls are hard. 
Only Mildred shozvs sympathetic attention, and so 
Rodelle addresses her) 

Nora. {Re-enters) I got to go back for the salt. 
Ye kin cook widout sugar, but vituals ain't no good 
without salt. {She stalks out) 

Rodelle. You see, when I told you I was all 
alone in the world, I told you the truth, but not the 
whole truth. 



24 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

]\IiLDRED. (Kindly) Very few of iis ever tell 
the whole truth about ourselves, dear. 

RoDELLE. Mv stepfather runs the hotel at Lime 
Rock. 

Kathleen. (Drops her magazine and leans for- 
ward) Lime Rock! I spent the summer there. 

RoDELLE. So my stepfather wrote me. (Her 
eyes tzvinkle) He said you were ornamental, but 
not effectual. 

Kathleen. What did he mean by the last, tell 
me? 

Rodelle. I guess he meant you did not make a 
lasting impression. (Quickly) Of course he was 
wrong, but after mother died, we got into the habit 
of sort of summing up the boarders that way. It 
kept us good friends. We didn't get on very w^ell, 
me and my stepfather. 

Kathleen. Why, if you are the daughter of the 
man who ran the hotel, you are the girl everyone 
asked for this summer, who got married — (She 
pauses suddenly) 

Rodelle. (Simply) Yes. I married Austin 
Wood. 

All. Austin Wood! 

Rodelle. Yes. My mother's name was Saun- 
ders, so I took it while I lived in Balmville. 

(7 he girls stare at each other. Mildred hesitates 
an instant, then crosses the room and sits close 
to Rodelle.) 

Mildred. Why did you not take Mr. Wood's 
name, dear? 

Rodelle, Austin writes, you know. 

Kathleen. (Pointedly) ' We know he tried to 
write. 

Rodelle. (Very quietly) He had been all his 
life working on one play. It was all but finished 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 25 

when he enlisted, so he asked for, and was given a 
term of leave to finish it. He did not want to come 
home, for his mother would feel the time belonged 
to her. 

Kathleen. (Bursts out) She always did think 
she owned him ! 

RoDELLE. So he came up to Lime Rock. It was 
early in the season, he was the only boarder. When 
he had been there before we had seen a good deal 
of each other, and this time — (She stops, chokes) 

Mildred. This time you decided you loved each 
other. 

Rodelle. {Pitifully) He was going to France, 
so soon, and we wanted to feel that nothing could 
ever separate us, so we got married. (Helen 
screzvs nncomfortahly in her chair, and Janet looks 
out the window, but Kathleen comes near Ro- 
delle) Austin did not want to tell his mother ; 
she thought she was his only sweetheart, and he felt 
she had enough to bear as it was, with him going 
away 

Kathleen. So she had. 

Rodelle. So he arranged for me to come down 
here for the summer. He thought I could become 
acquainted with her, and sort of break it to her 
gently. 

Kathleen. (In disgust) That's Austin Wood 
all over. Makes the other fellow face the music. 

Rodelle.. It would not have been hard if she 
had been different, but — (Again she hesitates, ob- 
viously umvilling to criticize her husband's mother) 

Helen. But Mrs. Wood is about as approach- 
able as a stone griffen, 

Rodelle. You see, at the hotel, I had been popu- 
lar, and Austin thought I could manage ; but it was 
different there ; down here I haven't seemed to — 
get on, (Sighs) 



26 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

Helen. {Impulsively) You were a mystery. 

RoDELLE. {In surprise) Was I? How so? 

Janet. {Impulsively) Why, this very morning, 
about the sugar. 

RoDELLE. {Relieved) Oh that! {She laughs) 
I explained about that to some men who said they 
were going to arrest me. You see last winter my 
stepfather had a chance to buy sugar cheap, so he 
took ten barrels. 

Helen. But that was precisely what the Gov- 
ernment asked us not to do. 

Rodelle. {Patiently) He had to have it for the 
hotel ; boarders won't stand not having dessert at 
least once a day. Ten barrels was his allowance. 
But last week, after the season was ended, he found 
he had half a barrel left, and I had written how 
difficult it was for me to get sugar here, and that I 
wanted it to make cakes for the soldiers, so he sent 
it down to me. 

All. Oh! 

Rodelle. I thought of giving a tea, and asking 
Mrs. Wood to come. I am a good cook ; perhaps, 
after she ate my cake she would be glad Austin had 
me. {Reflectively) His stomach is terribly weak! 

{Everyone, even Mildred, laughs.) 

Janet. Imagine Mrs. Wood going to tea at the 
home of a strange girl and being told that girl is her 
son's wife. Ye gods ! 

Mildred. This small hamlet is more conventional 
than conventional Boston, my dear. You will have 
to win in another way than the one you propose. 

Rodelle. {Quickly) Yes, I know. That is why 
I came to you for help. I have the way — here. 
{Holds up a letter) His play has been accepted, 
and they are to produce it at once. 

Kathleen. Really ? 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 27 

Janet. It should be accepted since he spent his 
life writing it. 

RoDELLE. Oh that is not the one. (Sadly) That 
came back from the manager. I haven't dared write 
Austin. (Brightens) But, after we were married 
we had ten days together, and in them he wrote an 
other play, kept at it, day and night — wrote it just 
as if it wrote itself — and I sent that in and — (Al- 
most hysterical) It's going on! 

Mildred. Splendid ! 

{At this moment Nora rushes into the room, her 
eyes rolling.) 

Nora. (Wails) Oh Mis' Thayer, Mis' Thayer, 
one of the Balmville bys is kilt entirely ! Oh Alanna 
the day! 

All. a Balmville boy? (They jump up) 

Nora. (Nods vehemently) Oh his poor mother ! 
God bless her and save her. 

Kathleen. (Takes Nora by the arms and 
shakes her) Not Billy? Not my brother? 

Nora. Not yer brother, a'tall a'tall. It's likely 
he's safe and sound, wid the other poor lad lying 
cold and still on the ground afther the great battle. 

Mildred. (Sharply) Who is it Nora? 

Nora. It's Austin Wood it is. A foine, up 
sthandin' broth o' a lad he war, wid the curly head 
on him ! (As she gives the name Rodelle sinks 
dozvn in a little heap on the chair by the lounge. 
They all move quickly towards her, but she wards 
them off with one hand, and zvith the other draws 
a cushion to her, and, putting it on her knees, buries 
her face in it. Nora, oblivious of everything save 
her ozvn emotion) Oh the poor mother! Wakin' 
in the night to think o' her only son — kilt ! 

Mildred. Nora, go directly to Mrs. Wood's 
home. Tell her she must come here at once ; do you 



2§ THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

understand? At once. It is of the utmost im- 
portance. 

Nora. Ah well. I wouldn't loike to be afther 
doin' that now. The poor soul will be wantin' to 
weep by hersel' for a day or so. 

Mildred. (With authority) Do as I bid you. 

Nora. (Grumbling) I'll go, but it's not o' me 
own accord. (She exits muttering) 

(Mildred bends over Rodelle, the other three 
form a stricken group by the table.) 

Mildred. (Tenderly) It's the woman's part 
dear. The woman's cross. She must bear it as 
bravely as she can. Remember he was killed " In 
Action." That, to me, would be a comforting 
thought. (Rodelle does not move, or indicate that 
she has heard. The girls are awkward, with the 
awkwardness of youth in the time of great stress. 
Mildred strokes Rodelle's hair softly for a full 
minute, then she moves slowly to the piano — if there 
is no piano on stage she can sing zvithont it — and 
softly striking a chord, she sings " The Rosary," 
with great depth of feeling. As she ends Rodelle 
lifts her head) 

Rodelle. (As in a dream) He was so strong: 
So strong, and so young! 

Mildred. (Goes to her) That is the awful part 
of war dear. It takes the young, 

Rodelle. (Still dazed) He had my picture in 
his pocket, my name on his clothes — (Suddenly she 
blinks as if coming out from darkness into a strong 
light) It is not true he is killed. It can't be true. 
His identification card bore my name and address, 
he did not want the news to come direct to his 
mother for fear the shock would prove her death 
too. (She rises feverishly, and goes for her hat) 
I must go to her, I must go at once, and tell her it is 
a mistake 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 29 
(Nora, out of breath, hurries back into the room.) 

Nora. Praise be, I didn't have to moind ye that 
toime, Mis' Thayer, for on the road I met up wid 
Mike Hennessey, an' he tolt me it war all a mistake 
about Austin Wood bein' kilt. ( With a tremendous 
sob of joy RoDELLE seises Nora and kisses her. 
Nora, offended, drazvs back) Pardon! It's dem- 
on-stra-i\Y& ye are ! 

Mildred. There's a reason Nora. {She puts her 
arm around Rodelle. To Nora) How did you get 
your story so mixed? 

Nora. Me is it! Me, mixed the story! Shure 
ye blames me fur ivery thing that happens in this 
house. 

Mildred. Everything good Nora — but how was 
it? 

Nora. 'Twas that fool o' a Bridget McCarthy 
who mixed things. 

Helen. It is criminal to make a mistake of that 
nature, and terrify one's friends. 

Nora. Shure it is. Well, Bridget read in the 
newspaper that a Austin Wood war kilt, and niver 
lookin' to see the lad's address nor title nor nothin', 
she ran out into the street and blabbed the news 
to ivery wan she met. {Reflectively) That woman 
is a poll parrot shure as me name is Bridget Ryan. 
{As she stands zvith her hands on her ample hips, 
Rodelle seizes her by the shoulders) 

Rodelle. You are sure — it was not my Austin? 

Nora. {Shakes the girl off like a dog shakes off 
an annoying fly) Am I shure this, an' am I shure 
that, an' am I shure t'other ! How kin I be shure 
o' what nobody ain't shure? I tells the news as I 
hears 'em, and all I knows is, the Austin Wood 
what was kilt comes from Oregon, and ain't got 
nary title, while the Balmville lad war a Lieutenant. 

Rodelle. Now I can go face his mother and tell 



30 THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 

her about his play and our marriage. Now I could 
face Daniel in the lion's den, and take the biggest 
lion by the paws {She grabs Nora by the hands so 
tightly that the Irish girl cannot shake her off) and 
make him do the one step with me. {Drags Nora 
across room) 

Nora. Glory ! The poor thing is crazy ! 

RoDELLE. Yes, crazy with happiness. 

Nora. I'm thinkin' ye're crazy wid sugar! 

RoDELLE. {Laughingly zvith joy) I am. Life 
is sweet. The world is a sweet place in which to be 
alive. Not even a German can kill the same man 
twice, and if Austin Wood is dead, then he cannot 
be killed, and he will come back to me. 

(Nora, -scared, succeeds in breaking away from 

RODELLE. ) 

Nora. Crazy as a loon ! It hits 'em that way 
sometimes ; in the head loike. I must be afther 
tellin' Bridget McCarthy this is her work. 

RoDELLE. {Pitts on hat) Good-bye everybody; 
I am going to make peace with my mother-in-law. 
Peace ! The most wonderful word in the language 
excepting. Life. We'll go to Camp Hills to-night, 
and I'll make enough cakes this afternoon that every 
boy there can have a slice. 

Nora. So that's what we hid the sugar for. Bless 
ye. I've a nephey o' me own at Camp Hills. 

RoDELLE. I'll give him a whole cake — for his 
aunt's sake. Good-bye, till to-night. {She goes 
out) 

(Helen slowly comes back to lounge and takes up 
the knitting.) 

Janet. It brings No Man's Land very close, 
does it not? {She covers cake with napkin) 



THE KNITTING GIRLS COUNT ONE 31 

Kathleen. (Slowly) I guess I will come to 
the Red Cross rooms to-morrow. Perhaps — if I 
don't sew both legs of the pajamas together — I may 
help to keep some soldier alive. 

Helen. We will work as we never did before. 

Nora. (Going out) Life is a blessed thing, 
shure. 

Mildred. (Takes up her unfinished sock) And 
the Knitting Girls Count One! (As she takes her 
stitches) 

(The Curtain Falls.) 



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